


The Good Die Young

by PGT



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, Coping, Gen, Short, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 02:36:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20520557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PGT/pseuds/PGT
Summary: Three funerals.One: A young girl who’s viewing had been full of friends and schoolmates, only one guest who could be called family, though he had not been the one weeping the hardest.Two: A young boy, barely a teen. There was no body present, and no family mourning; only two friends and their mother, who cried as if he had been her own child.Three: A boy, the same age as the first, with no body present, and no one to mourn him.





	1. Sabo

Luffy cried, and for once in his life, so did Ace. Neither addressed the other, As Ace could not scold Luffy without admitting his own condition, and Luffy could not comfort Ace without pointing it out. And so they did not speak, and only kept to themselves, seated across from the still image of their deceased brother. 

It was a broken feeling, hollow, but unreal. Luffy had never witnessed death, had never experienced grief. It made his stomach coil, his throat sting, and for once in his young life, he found he could not eat if he tried.

Ace had experienced grief, though not in this way. He knew his mother died when he was young, though he could not remember her. She was not the subject of his grief. Nor was his father, who died when he was still a child, far away, having never met. The grief Ace was acquainted with was the sorrow that filled his heart when he remembered his position in life: an orphan, a criminal’s son, a bastard. He was all of these things and had so little positives to balance the scale. He mourned his life every day, though he was not dead.

Mourning Sabo was different. Even though Ace never quite felt alive, he could nonetheless find himself in fleeting happiness, anger, sadness, jealousy, pride. Sabo could no longer feel any of this. This was the condition of death.

As he wept, Ace found a new respect for his miserable life, and decided to live on, for his brother of different blood.

Eventually, Dadan composed herself. She hugged her weeping children, who both returned the favor, though Ace would never admit it. She murmured in their ears, words they did not hear, words that could not reach them. She spoke to comfort them, to let them know that they would get through this, together. They knew this, though they could not hear her. Luffy, who would keep smiling. Ace, who would keep living.


	2. Kuina

Zoro had lashed out at every peer that came close to him. He did not want their comfort, he did not need it. He should be crying, had every right to. His friend, ally, nemesis had died. His equal had died.

Maybe the reasons he wept were selfish, but in a way, they were not. The shallow thought was this: He would never beat Kuina. But it was more complicated; he wept that they could not become swordsmen together. He would never see Kuina grow to beat armies and beasts in one strike, to do so himself and see her pride. They would never compete to beat the strongest swordsmen together, never climb the ranks together, never one day, when they were mature and perfect and warriors, have one final fight, and defeat one another. Perhaps he felt her end had been stolen from him, that he was the one who should defeat her one day, not a measly flight of stairs.

Only Koushirou could step close to Zoro without getting hit or yelled at, and that was only because Zoro couldn’t bear to hit his Sensei, and the father of the deceased. It was hard to keep these thoughts in mind, when Koushirou bore a smile, despite the lines of tears that marred his cheeks. How dare he smile, how dare he have that sad smile despite everything, how dare he keep face when Zoro couldn’t keep the snot from falling from his nose.

On that day, sitting so that he matched Zoro’s height, he told Zoro that he would inherit Kuina’s sword. And it was a precious thing, a focus, and with it the child was able to believe that he and Kuina could still become swordsmen together. She would climb the ranks with him, through her weapon. Koushirou believed that the soul inhabited the things you held dear. While Zoro didn’t believe this himself, he made an exception for the white-hilted blade.


	3. Sanji

Sanji's funeral, though presented at the home, was better depicted in the graveyard adjoined. Because while no one was present for his viewing, he was there, with nowhere to go. He sat against the only grave he could read, his mother's, and wept for himself. His father abandoned him, his brothers had given him one last beating, his sister had murmured one last trail of hopeful thoughts into his ear. And now, he was alone, with no future, nowhere to go. 

It was fortunate that three chefs had come to mourn that evening. The jovial two and their more stern leader, it was a wonder they noticed the boy curled in on himself at all. One of the louder men had commented “Kid looks like you,” only to be kicked in the leg and laughed at by the other. Sanji didn’t expect them to reroute, to step right up to the grave he sat against. It was only their broad bodies casting shadows over him, casting him even deeper into shadow than the overcast day had. 

“Where’s your parents brat?” the leader asked, and Sanji blinked up to him without an answer.

One of the chefs gestured to the stone slab behind the boy. “Vinsmoke, wasn’t that some famous family? They were in the news last week for something.”

“Kid died.” the other said. He eyed Sanji like he was putting the pieces together.

The older man certainly heard the others, but made no show of it. “You got parents?”

Sanji considered lying, or neglecting to mention that he had one, but that she was dead. He found himself being honest to the man, shaking his head.

“Got a home?”

He shook his head.

There was a long silence, only broken by the younger chefs. “You can’t be serious, Zeff.” one said, barely under his breath.

Sanji didn’t know what the two knew that he didn’t, the older chef, Zeff, hadn’t said anything. 

“Can you cook?”

Sanji didn’t know. He found himself nodding.

“Zeff,” the other chef hissed.

“Prove it and you’ll find yourself a sous-chef. Prove it wrong, i’ve been needing some younger waiters.”

With nothing else he turned, his workers trailing behind him. He didn’t turn to check that Sanji wasn’t following, only shouted “Time’s ticking, kid!”

Sanji stumbled to his feet, legs carrying him forward. No one mourned him that day but himself, but perhaps that was okay, his life had only just begun.


End file.
